


Raising the Bar

by DerRumtreiber



Series: TFLN Shorties [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Wade Wilson is a Good Bro, Wade is a smooth criminal, peter is in grad school, the way to Peters heart is tacos and dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerRumtreiber/pseuds/DerRumtreiber
Summary: "Tell me you meant to hit him with that end," Peter hisses, shooting a web at the unconscious body with one hand, rubbing his temples in frustration with the other."Uh, I meant to hit him with that end?" Wade sings out, innocently. "But back to more important matters! Little spider wants a bone, but none of the nonnys on Grindr will mask up, huh? Ain't you got a super immune system to go with that super strength and super tight tush?"~*~*~*~*~Based on the following tfln:"You fucked him, didn't you?""He showed up at my house with tacos, rum and a negative COVID test. Of course I fucked him. I'm just a simple girl that likes tacos, not Margaret Thatcher!"
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: TFLN Shorties [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083431
Comments: 19
Kudos: 378





	Raising the Bar

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Home for All Seasons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064076) by [astuteweasel (whimsicalmeerkat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmeerkat/pseuds/astuteweasel). 



> So WhimsicalMeerkat wanted a prompt, and I had this one saved, but it was too good to not get in on as well. 
> 
> Edited on mobile, so if you see anything bizarre that'd be why. Better editing, more tags, etc etc to come later. I'm just impatient.

"You fucked him, didn't you?" Clint sighs, watching Spider-Man peel a very clingy and inappropriately handsy Deadpool from his back where they've landed on the rooftop beside him. 

"He showed up at my house with tacos, rum and a negative COVID test. Of course I fucked him. I'm just a simple girl that likes tacos, not Margaret Thatcher!" 

  


**_~*~two weeks earlier, in a forgettable NYC alley~*~_**

"I mean, it was hard enough before, you know? It's not like I have a ton of free time, and the bar pick up scene was never really my bag, so-" 

"You mean the bars wouldn't let you in because you're too much of a goody-two-shoes to let me get you a fake ID," Wade halts mid-kick, sets his foot back on the ground and puts both hands on his hips to give Peter an unimpressed stare. 

"I'm in _grad_ school, 'Pool! How many times do I have to tell you I'm old enough to drink?" 

"Sure you are, Doogie Howser. Maybe in Canada." 

One of the men in ski-masks begins to edge his way cautiously towards the mouth of the alley. A sizeable knife appears from somewhere in Wade's suit and he chucks it at the attempted-escapee. The butt of the hilt clocks the man in the back of the head before Peter has a chance to yell. 

"Tell me you meant to hit him with that end," Peter hisses, shooting a web at the unconscious body with one hand, rubbing his temples in frustration with the other. 

"Uh, I meant to hit him with that end?" Wade sings out, innocently. "But back to more important matters! Little spider wants a bone, but none of the nonnys on Grindr will mask up, huh? Ain't you got a super immune system to go with that super strength and super tight tush?" 

"Definitely not," Peter shakes his head. "Don't you remember last flu season? I was out for like a full week, puking my guts out. Dr. Banner had to come up with Spidey-strength nyquil on the fly - _ha, flyquil_. You even brought me soup!" 

Wade pauses with his hand wrapped tight in the back of the remaining baddy's jacket and tilts his head in thought. "Eh, must have taken a few too many bullets to the ol' brain pan this past year. Flu season's a little blurry. A lot of it's a little blurry, to be honest." 

He slams the guy into the wall hard enough that final-baddy crumples to a heap at his boots and pointedly ignores Peter's groan of frustration. 

"'Pool, we talked about this." 

"He's still breathing! It's just a little concussion. The tiniest of concussions!" 

"Not that, idiot. Although, yes, that was absolutely unnecessary. He wasn't getting past both of us, and you _know_ how much of a fuss the normal criminals make to the press when you-" 

"Spiiideeeeeyyy," Wade whines, scuffing his sole across the ground, trying to look appropriately chastened while still kicking crumpled-failed-criminal-man in the shin. 

"We're friends, Wade. Friends are here for each other when things get rough. You don't have to go- you don't have to-" Peter's voice drops to a sad, pained whisper. "If it gets that bad, DP, talk to me about it. You don't have to _kill yourself_." 

Wade blinks slowly a few times, the whites of his mask as unnervingly emotive as ever. "OH! Ooh, he thinks- oh, man. How fucking sweet can our sweetie get? 

_Of course_ I feel bad for making him think- But! BUT! It was totally worth it! That was practically a declaration of-" 

"Wade!" 

At Peter's interruption Wade startles and tosses his head, shaking off whatever internal tangent he was starting on. 

"Oh, right. So sorry, my moon and stars! No, no, you misunderstand. You know I've been trying my very utmost hardest to not un-alive anyone, yours truly included. But less un-aliving of them leads to more un-aliving of me _by_ them. Which, no prob, Bob; peachy-keen, jelly bean. Been there, done that, got a whole storage locker full of the t-shirts. 

But there was that job in Bahrain awhile back. Or was it Berlin? _(No, it was definitely not Boise. As if I would ever deign to set foot in Idaho, too many potatoes. And we all know what they say about potatoes. Can't trust nothing with that many eyes)_." 

"Present company excluded, of course," he adds, momentarily returning to Peter and the real world. "My delectable little man-eater." 

Peter huffs. "For the thousandth time, 'Pool, not actually a spider." 

But Wade is already lost again, so Peter lets him rant away as he webs the baddies together and cleans up the mess as best he's able. 

"It does sound like something we'd do, though," Wade mutters. "Nooo, not the blam blamming ourself with our own blammer part. We don't do that anymore. The soup part! 

We make a mean chicken corn tortilla, nice and spicy, probably great for clearing the sinuses of our stopped-up baby jalapeño popper, and best part, no potatoes- _hey_! Baby boy! Where you goin'?" 

Peter is already at the mouth of the alley, phone held to his masked ear, calling in the local LEOs to come claim their prize. 

"Sorry," he shrugs when he's done and slipping his phone back in his suit. "Figured you were gonna be awhile. Got an early zoom lecture in the morning, so I'm out for the night." 

Wade waves him off. "Alright, baby boy. Go get that beauty sleep." 

With his own little wave, Peter makes to turn away. Then he jolts like his spidey-senses just got the ol' tickle 'n squeeze and turns back towards Wade. 

"Wait. Wade?" He asks, slowly. "How, uh- how did you know about the Grindr thing? I mean, I didn't say anything about looking online, and even if I had I could have been using any app. Figured you'd guess Tinder or something, unless you were just-" 

Under his mask, Wade grins so wide Peter's afraid the leather is going to split at the seams. 

Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "You were just messing with me. You had no idea. Oh man, someone have mercy on me for the hell I've just brought on myself." 

Wade frowns and settles, the humor gone from his voice. "Webs, you know all your secrets are safe with me. I ain't never gonna out no one, least of all you." 

"Actually not what I was worried about," Peter shrugs, and the seriousness of the moment is broken as quick as it came. "More worried about the even worse deluge of innuendo coming my way from here on out- don't you _dare_ say in-your-" 

"IN-YOUR-ENDO," Wade cackles gleefully, then pauses to think. "Or, actually, I thought the problem was there was _nothing_ in your-' 

"NOPE. Annnnd we're done here, folks. Goodnight, Wade." 

  
  


**_~*~two hours later~*~_**

_**DP** : u need some new prof pics bb hmu  
**DP** : u no ill make u look so fiiiiinne_

_  
I knew you wouldn't leave this alone  
And I think I'm good  
I've had a lot of practice  
_

_(...)_

_  
Bc of my old job, I mean  
_

_**DP** : OMG_

_  
At the Bugle  
Not like  
_

_**DP** : nooo u cant take this from me _

_  
Oh, frak off  
Go ahead, then  
Get it out of your system  
_

_**DP** : nah 2 ez  
**DP** : and ill never get u out of my system  
**DP** : Don't let the fukbois get ya down  
**DP** : Spidey don't want no scrub  
**DP** : Keep those stndrds high bb boi _

_  
My standards rn are like  
A neg COVID test and a dick  
But thanks Wade. I think.  
_

_**DP** : u have no idea wut kind  
of restraint im xzibiting atm webs _

_  
Consider me impressed  
For real  
_

_**DP** : xoxo ;* _

  
  


**_~*~very nearly two weeks later~*~_**

****  
** **

It's 8 o'clock on a Saturday night, and Peter is unhappily ensconced in the pillows of his sinking, second-hand couch, gingerly pressing a rapidly cooling ice pack to his sore ribs. He's been nursing the last beer from his fridge for the past hour, and he's down to the salt crumbs of the stale bag of pretzels he'd found crammed in the back of his kitchen's junk drawer. 

It's not that he's even really all that poor, anymore. Mr. Stark has ensured his grad research stipend is pretty sweet, even if Peter had turned down a full-time salaried position while he's still in school. It's just that there aren't enough hours in the day, and he'd meant to go to the store after a quick afternoon patrol to make up for missing his usual Thursday night crime fighting with Wade. 

But he'd left his non-spidey medical mask in his other bag, and by the time he'd gotten to the rooftop where he's stashed his civvies, and then all the way back to his apartment to grab it, his side had been starting to smart something awful and also- _tired, so flippin' tired, ugh_. So he'd just grabbed an ice pack and dropped. 

Three meals a day was really more of a suggestion, right? And beer and stale pretzels covered most of the main food groups, anyways. 

So now he's idly scrolling his way through his litany of Grindr messages for lack of anything less physical to do. He's sending Wade screenshots of the truly terrible ones, of which there are… many (scrubs indeed), when a knock on the door makes him jump. His ribs groan their disapproval, and he groans out loud in agreement. 

If it's Mrs. Kennedy from 3F again wanting him to change out another lightbulb, he is going to flip a table, ribs be damned. Peter likes helping his neighbors as much as he likes keeping his neighborhood safe. But he's not living in a total slum anymore, and the building has maintenance for a reason, and he _knows_ she just wants to try and sneak a grab of- 

His phone chimes. 

  


_**DP** : open sesame .^. _

  


So, not Mrs. Kennedy, but an ass-grabber all the same. 

Peter groans again as he hauls himself to his feet. Of all the times to find some manners and knock at the door like a civilized human being. Peter is instantly suspicious as he shuffles to the door and yanks it open. 

His jaw doesn't drop, but it's a near thing. 

He'd expected Deadpool to be standing there (or slumped, dismembered, against the frame in a puddle of blood (or something else equally as likely to scare the neighbors and get him evicted)). What he gets instead is… _Wade_. Not a square inch of leather in sight. No swords strapped to his back, no (visible) weaponry at all. 

His hood is pulled low over his brow, and a unicorn patterned cloth mask covers his nose and chin, but his eyes are visible and he gives Peter a wink. His baggy black sweatpants are tucked into an offensively bright pink pair of high tops with neon yellow laces, and he's loaded down on one side with plastic shopping bags in his scarred, bare hand. 

He looks shockingly domestic. If Peter were color blind, he might even go as far as to say Wade looks _normal._

Peter is stunned enough that he completely misses the large manilla envelope Wade is holding out with the hand not laden down with bags. Wade pokes him with it a few times in the chest until Peter drags his eyes from the blinding monstrosities on Wade's feet. He snatches it from him with a suspicious glare and tears it open, pulling out a neatly stapled packet of paper. 

He flips through, brow furrowing, while Wade patiently watches and rocks back and forth on his heels. The merc still hasn't said a word - possibly the most unsettling part of the evening thus far. 

Peter reaches the last page and slides them all back into the envelope. 

"While I'm glad to see Mr. Dover here is getting regular screenings and has a clean bill of sexual health, I'm gonna need a little more to go on here, DP," he says, stepping back to let Wade in and grabbing a fresh ice pack from the freezer. 

He tosses the envelope down on the coffee table before settling onto the couch and resuming his pitiful convalescence. He nestles himself back into the cushions with a hiss. 

"Oops!" Wade gasps, following right on Peter's heels and setting his bags down on the table, too; he reaches behind himself and pulls another envelope from the waistband of his sweats. "Silly me, wrong envelope. How embarrassing, eh?" 

He shoves this one at Peter, as well, and Peter has no idea how he could have confused the two. This one is literally a white, letter-sized envelope that has been folded over twice, which, Peter finds as he rips it open, contains a single page. Also test results, also negative. This time for COVID. 

He fixes Wade with a tight lipped stare. "Dr. B. Dover, esq. of 69 Meat Street. The B wouldn't happen to stand for Ben, would it?" 

"Act-shua-lllly, Peter _Benjamin_ Parker, I have it on good authority that Mr. Dover particularly despises that moniker, though I myself cannot possibly imagine why." 

"Jesus christ, Wade." 

"Ok, yes. You caught me. I am Mr. B. Dover, esq., and yes, just Ben is fine. Although, come to think of it, that might be a little weird for you, huh? What with the tragic backstory and all. Too late now though, and I just needed a quick _in nomine patris-_ " 

"Oh, my God. Please tell me you mean _nom de plume_." 

"What, not into blasphemy and daddy kinks, baby boy? That's a shame, but no worries, we can still-" 

"WADE!" 

"Yeah?" Wade asks, stopping mid-ramble for once to turn his full attention to Peter, and it feels like they've just witnessed a minor miracle. 

"You can't get sick," Peter points out. 

"Oh yeah, _I_ know that. Try telling that to the lady doing my blood work, though. Her face when I came back clean - Petey, it was hilarious. I tried telling her that this," Wade gestures at his face. "Isn't contagious, but she _clearly_ did not believe me one bit, even after she handed me my results." 

"I can't imagine why not, _Benjamin_ ," Peter raises an eyebrow and Wade pulls off his med mask to give him a cheesy grin. "You're terrible. And you still haven't explained why you're here, or why I should care about any of this." 

"Petey-pie, you don't care about my health and good fortune?! Ok, ok, I know that look. Thin ice, gotcha baby boy. Uh, ok, so I'm not like, under any assumptions here or nothin', so no pressure, honest. But I figured, well - standards?" The last dozen or so words all come out in the same rushed breath. 

Peter still feels very lost. It must show on his face, because Wade barrels on. 

"Standards, y'know? The other night you said you had 'em - and boy howdy, Pete, what a low bar you've set if even I can reach it. But you know me. See the play, shoot my shot and all. I'm negateev-o for the plague-o, I definitely have a dick, and I brought tacos. But I usually bring tacos anyways, so I also brought my good friend The Captain to class it up some." 

Peter squints up at Wade, who looks like he's about to vibrate away with pent up nervous energy. "I thought it was tequila that went with tacos?" 

"Tequila?! What do you think I am? Some kind of a cliche?" Wade asks, appalled. 

It's almost impossible to hide the quirk of a smile that is threatening to break free on Peter's face. 

"No, certainly never a cliche" he agrees. "Sit down, Wade. My danger sense is going haywire with you hovering like that." 

" _Ooh, yeah, we make him all tingly_ ," Wade murmurs, giving Peter the side-eye as he gets comfortable on the other end of the couch; it doesn't leave much space between them - it's basically a love seat. 

Peter's fairly sure that, while Wade is talking _about_ him, he's probably not actually talking _to_ him, so he ignores the comment and starts rifling through Wade's bags. Now that the weirdness of the situation has worn off some, the lure of food is too strong to ignore. 

From the smell alone he can tell that Wade went to the little hole-in-the-wall taqueria halfway across town that has tamales to die for, even though Peter knows Wade prefers the place two blocks from Peter's apartment. Sure enough, under a monstrous pile of foil wrapped tacos is a brown paper bag that has Peter's name on it. Literally. Dozens of tiny cartoon spider stickers stare back up at him, protecting savory, steamy goodness. 

He doles out their grub, then moves on to look through the other bags on the table. Bottle of Captain - check. A second bottle - Cuervo Silver. He looks over at Wade, who shrugs unapologetically. 

"Ok, I am a cliche. But The Captain looked so lonely without his BFF Jose." 

Peter snorts out a laugh, and as he starts going through the final bag he feels Wade tense beside him. He pulls out a familiar gold box and stares at it for a moment, then looks back to Wade. Wade is gripping his taco bag hard enough to tear, and a few pieces of wet tomato slide out to land on his pants. He looks ready to bolt. 

Peter holds eye contact for longer than necessary, just to watch Wade squirm. Usually it's the other way around, and he wants to draw out this turning of the tables as long as possible. Wade really must be rubbing off on him, because Peter's enjoying his discomfort way too much to be healthy. 

He shakes the box, and Wade cringes, hard. 

"Really, Wade? _Magnums_?" 

Wade's eyes narrow in offense. "Hey! I ain't frontin', jizz slinger. I got the Bee Dee to go with my Bee Dee Ener- _gee_. Sure, this was mostly all a big joke- ( _ok, shut up, like fifty percent a joke. Ok!! Five percent a joke, max, will you let me at least pretend to have some dignity here_ )- but on the off chance you actually let me strut my swagger, I wasn't gonna be unprepared." 

Peter has mostly stopped listening. The final item in the bag is a bottle of lube, which he turns over in his hand to read the label on the back. Wade has good taste. 

"I thought you were clean?" Peter asks, off-hand, setting the bottle back on the table and balling up the bags to dispose of later. 

"Uh," Wade splutters. "Are you messing with me right now, Webs? Cuz I know I said this was all a big ol' prank, but that was just my excuse for when you shot me down. Except it don't sound like you're shootin' me down, and while I may _appear_ on the day-to-day to be an emotionally invulnerable leather daddy, at heart I am but a rather sensitive damsel. At least when it comes to you, and-" 

Peter is all too aware of how long this will go on if he doesn't put a stop to it now, so he shuffles closer on the couch, tamales balanced on his lap, and hooks one of his socked feet around Wade's ankle. He picks the remote up from the floor from where it has been pushed off by Wade's offerings, and he sets the condoms next to the lube. 

Then he leans back so their shoulders are pressed together and drops the remote in Wade's lap. 

"Food first," Peter decides. "Then you can spend the rest of the night showing me that swagger." 

  
  


**_~*~twelve hours later~*~_**

_  
_

Peter wakes up the next morning to his 'Associate Avengers, Assemble!' phone alarm, and an all-hands text from Mr. Stark. Normally, he would be loath to get up before noon on a Sunday, but he feels good. Great, even. His ribs barely throb, and his limbs feel loose and relaxed in all the right ways. 

The alarm must have woken Wade, too. He's scootched up tight behind Peter as big spoon and he drags a warm, rough palm up Peter's bare side, pulling a full body shiver from him. 

"Duty calls, baby boy? I'll get outta your hair so's you can get ready. At least we avoid the awkward morning after, huh?" Wade says, but Peter can hear the disappointment underneath. 

They can't have that. How will Peter ever find someone else who meets all his highly exacting standards? A twist of his hips and a tiny burst of super strength and he's got Wade flat on his back. Peter straddles his hips, puts his hands on Wade's chest, and leans down. 

"Actually," Peter drags his lips up Wade's tense jaw to nip at his earlobe; he grins when Wade doesn't manage to stifle a groan. "I was thinking… a little tag-team hero action, maybe we grab some late breakfast after, then we come back here for round four?" 

The tension leaves Wade's body in a roll and stretch that goes straight to Peter's dick. He pinches Peter's hip cruelly and turns his head to steal a real kiss. It tastes awful, rum and tequila and mexican and morning after. Peter really doesn't give a flying flip about that though, because it's also wet and soft until Wade bites hard on Peter's bottom lip, and- _ugh,_ now he doesn't want to get up anymore. 

"Spidey, have some standards," Wade murmurs against his lips. "Tag-team, then we come back here and I _make_ you breakfast, then round _five._ " 

Peter knows they need to be where the action is ASAP, and he's going to be in for a 'I'm not mad, just disappointed' Captain Ameri-dad lecture. Still, he lets Wade roll him over and cover Peter with his bulk all the same. New York will have to stay standing on her own for a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Ngl I was aiming for smut and ended up with 3.5k words of banter and dumbassery, but I was having fun so I went with it. Maybe I'll add some smut later? I just really wanted to finish something.
> 
> And pretty sure this is like my 4th Character A is thirsty and Character B assists fic. Get out of my head, dumb trope D:


End file.
